


Isolation

by deptofweirdsounds



Category: Smosh
Genre: Coronavirus, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mental Health Issues, Quarantine, mythical, shartney, shourtney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deptofweirdsounds/pseuds/deptofweirdsounds
Summary: 2020's isolation gets the better of Shayne, and Courtney steps up to be the company he needs. Fluff ensues.(5 Parts / Shourtney friends-to-lovers)
Relationships: Courtney Miller & Shayne Topp, Courtney Miller/Shayne Topp
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Although it contains references to real people, it is in no way a representation of reality and the public figures involved are merely shortcuts to characters. Always remember the golden rule of RPF: it doesn't and shouldn't go near the people referenced.
> 
> Specific Disclaimer: contains reference to mental illness, something of which everyone's experience varies. The experience of a depressive episode represented will not reflect all experiences of depressive symptoms. 
> 
> Actual Note: Hi! I've been writing fic for 10 years but I'm new to the whole Smosh thing (fell into it because iso and all). This fic was also posted on WattPad a few days ago, but it has no reads because god knows how that site works so I guess I'm throwing it here too. This will be a 5-parter eventually. Enjoy!

It sneaks up on him, but at the same time, he knew it was coming. He’s a social boy - so much of his personality and his routine relies on seeking out feedback from and being able to play off other people, and now he’s living entirely alone isolating in his small one-bedroom apartment for god knows how long. During a global pandemic where hundreds of thousands of people are dying, and society is low key collapsing, no less.

He manages totally fine for a while: he plays up the insanity of the situation for all the videos he’s now recording with a camera and mic setup in his own home, he puts effort into creating characters and costumes and corners of his apartment that look a tiny bit like whatever set he needs. He ups his social media posting because the world really needs some light-hearted absurdity right now that he knows he can provide, and in the quiet moments in between he settles into his favourite pastimes. He finally has time to catch up on some of his favourite games he hasn’t been able to get around to playing for much too long, he starts working through the pile of books in his bookcase that he’s just been waiting for the right time to read (and he even takes some to read in socially distanced outdoor peace at a local park). He’s even trying out new food, because a bunch of cool places have popped up on the delivery apps to stay alive - and hey, why not order food every day when it’s to support local business, right?

Plus, Animal Crossing is released a few weeks into LA’s stay at home order, and he’s been waiting for that bitch for _years_.

March is fine - good, even. He’s on top of his work and they’re producing some pretty good shit, he’s got that home gym setup worked out, things are going as well as they can, given the state of the world.

He takes two days straight off working out in the middle of April. He tells himself it’s because he’s tired and he deserves a couple days of self-care laziness, and he pretends that laziness is actually self-care for him and not really goddamn demotivating. He just... everything outside is bad, it’s so bad, it keeps getting worse, and he needs to let himself wallow in bed for a couple days straight over it before he jumps back to normalcy.

He throws himself into an intensely absurd character in the next video they film, and it becomes a habit that he plays up: he’s losing his mind in quarantine, or at least, the characters he plays are. He isn’t, just the characters. He stops shaving because it makes his comedy even more absurd, and it’s not like he’s going out and seeing anyone for any other reason anyway. He gets quieter between characters, though - he needs to balance it out, and he’s tired, and every day is starting to bleed into one long stream of consciousness with no end in sight.

He stops lying to himself in late April. He has a goddamn degree in social psychology, he steered away from the intensely clinical psych subjects but he knows enough to recognise he’s fallen into a hella depressive episode. But what the hell is he going to do about it? He’s still able to throw himself into insane highs and he’s getting all his work done on time, he’s working out every few days at least, and it’s not like he actually needs to do anything else so who cares if he’s spending twelve hours a day borderline comatose in bed? It’s not like he can go push himself at the gym or mess around with his friends or even go see his family interstate, he’s barely allowed to leave his house.

He feels his mood starting to bleed into his work, then. Sketches are fine - anything where he plays a character is fine, and he’s playing a character in almost every Games and Pit video now too to play up the quarantine absurdity. But sometimes... Smoshcast is the hardest, trying to talk positively for over an hour, although at least it means he’s having conversations with his friends. His performance in jackbox games tanks, although no one except him seems to notice.

At the same time, he feels the quarantine absurdity character leaking into his social conversations. He and Damien are just throwing bad memes at each other via text, long forgotten any actual direct conversation, and he’s doing much the same with a whole host of other friends. He hasn’t talked to either of his parents for a month and all his messages to Courtney are about work.

But it’s fine. It’s just... quarantine. He’ll push through until everything gets back to normal, even if that isn’t for another year.

It’s a Smoshcast that gets him. One minute he’s being sceptical about a shoot dood after joking around with Courtney and Ian for an hour, then they do the goodbyes and finish up with the editors, send their recordings through...

He’s hit by a wall of emptiness the second he hits send on the files going to the editors and suddenly there’s tears streaming down his face, his body wracking with sobs as his mind catapults through a series of thoughts he didn’t know were even there. He’s fucking lonely, he misses touching people, he misses laughing and being laughed at, he’s scared that it’s only so long before someone he knows gets it and dies and maybe this will never end maybe this is what the world is going to be forever now, he’s read the articles about long term complications for neurological performance and fatigue and fertility and this could legitimately be an existential threat to humanity and even if it isn’t then fucking climate change is killing them all anyway and the US’ political system is collapsing and what is even the point of trying to pretend everything is normal and okay and making people laugh and why does he even try because it’s not like he has anyone that even wants to see him again and-

His text tone cuts through the noise in his head, but he mutters angrily to himself as he stumbles across to the other side of the living room to find his phone.

“I don’t fucking care what you’re fucking saying why do I even fucking bother if I’m never going to see any of these friends again go AWAY I don’t want to do anything-“ he mumble-yells, roughly snatching up his phone and switching it on, “-fucking Courtney I don’t want to do work right now I just-”

He pauses when he swipes across her name roughly and sees that, instead of a quick work message, he’s met with a very long paragraph, his eyes slowly scanning it over.

“Hey buddy. I’m sorry if this is totally off base, but I just wanted to check in on you. I know I’m only seeing you when we’re actively filming at the moment but I’m just increasingly feeling like you’re a little... off. I know you’re playing up all the ridiculousness because what is this year, but you seem to be wildly jumping between these extreme highs and low and quiet. I know you’re a social boy and you’re having to go it alone at the moment, I just wanted to make sure you’re holding up okay? Always here if you want to talk and please please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you. Miss you Shayney boi ❤️”

It floors him a little, how in tune her assessment was, how exact her timing was. He considers ignoring her, and he does storm into his bedroom and throw his phone roughly into his unmade bed, but he pauses in the doorway before he goes back to the couch. It takes half a minute of deliberation that his mind doesn’t fully participate in - he’s mostly thinking about how he doesn’t want to decide and maybe he could just stand in the doorway all afternoon - before he turns and follows the phone into his bed, daytime clothes still on and pulling the covers over himself as he reaches for his phone and drags it back up to type.

“Thanks for checking in court ❤️” he sends first, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a minute to try and work out what to say next.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles, hitting the photo button and flipping his camera around. He looks like a fucking mess, in bed in the middle of the day with bright red eyes and tears all over his face. He takes the photo and attaches it to the message before he starts typing.

“Your timing is impeccable. I’ve been low AF for a few weeks and after recording just now I had a full-on fucking breakdown. I’m not lying to myself, I know I’m not holding up gr8, but I don’t think there’s much I can do when all my positive things are being around people and whatever.”

He hits send before he can change his mind, thumb repetitively scrolling up and down and rereading his own message. Courtney doesn’t see it immediately, but when she does the typing bubble pops up immediately and stays for thirty seconds.

“Oh no, Shayne ;( I’m sorry you aren’t doing so well but it’s totally understandable that you aren’t. You wanna talk about anything? You can call me or FaceTime if you want to, or just text, or nothing - but I think you need to talk to someone. And that could be a therapist, but it could also be a friend and I’m happy to be that friend.”

He doesn’t let himself rationalise his way out of it, he hits the FaceTime button immediately and it takes a few seconds to connect but then there’s Courtney, lying on her own bed - although on top of the covers - and looking with care and concern at him. He looks even worse in the FaceTime camera but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Hey Court,” he mumbles, wishing he could reach through the screen and hug her.

“Hey Shayne,” her voice is soft and comforting and she gives him a small smile that almost makes him smile back. Almost. “Is there something in particular you’re not doing good with?”

“I just spiralled before,” he admits, “it’s not really like me. I don’t think I’ve done it before. But I was- thinking how lonely I am and how much I miss human touch and then I was thinking this is never going to end and people I know are gonna start dying and then climate change is killing all of us and why do I bother working and trying to be funny when everything just sucks.”

“It’s really hard at the moment. I wish I could hug you. I get all that. I’m not gonna tell you it’s totally irrational, except- you bother working and being funny because that’s one thing that doesn’t suck. It’s what I keep telling myself too,” Courtney murmurs, “more than ever, what we’re doing is for everyone else. We’re helping people get through this, we’re doing something good.”

“It’s getting harder to actually do it,” Shayne mumbles in response, and she nods sympathetically, “I’m not being creative anymore, I’m just being an insane asshole.”

“I’ve noticed you’re not doing so well at jackbox stuff and anything where you’re playing yourself,” she agrees, and he blinks silently in surprise.

“I didn’t think anyone had noticed. No one is making fun of me for it.”

“I always notice things about you, Shayne. Always gotta keep an eye on my fav boy- but I figured making fun of you for it wasn’t the right tact this time,” she replies, tone turning soft, and he nods and lets them fall into silence for a moment. He feels the tears creep back into his eyes as he looks at her, face full of concern and care for him, and it hits him all of a sudden.

“I think I miss you most. You- touch me so much and, you’re kind of- you’re my favourite stupid Courtney,” he tells her, not able to bite back the sentiment although he moderates it down as much as he can.

“Miss you too, idiot. I miss you a whole lot. You give the best hugs,” her reply comes with a single tear trailing down her cheek and his hand twitches as if to reach out and wipe it from her face. Not that he’d usually do that, just... touch.

“I wish I could come and see you. I guess I- should just go out in a mask and buy groceries or something to see people but I don’t want to,” he sighs, bringing a hand up to cover his face.

“I have an idea. Give me a sec, getting my laptop,” Courtney speaks up after a moment, and he moves his hand to watch her still holding her phone up in front of her face as she rolls off her bed and wanders through to her living room table, “I’m just going to sit my phone against my screen for a moment so I can type.”

It gives him an almost direct shot of her cleavage and he figures it’s an accident, so he tips his own phone onto its back and doesn’t look as he listens to her typing.

“Oops, bad angle, sorry,” she laughs when she picks up the phone again evidently seeing her own video.

“I don’t care. I didn’t look,” he gives half a shrug in response as he flips his own phone to look at himself.

“I wouldn’t care if you did. Anyway- I looked up the actual LA stay at home orders and some FAQ stuff from the city- they mostly talk about partners here, but... you can set up a quarantine bubble of sorts with two households especially if you live alone, so like- we could... you could come over. For real. I know you haven’t been going out and it’s a month since I’ve been to my Dad’s place. We can absolutely safely and legally catch up. And screw social distancing. If anyone asks it’s not like we don’t have experience pretending to be a couple,” she tells him, with a half-smile, before continuing softer, “please come over, Shayne. You’re worrying me.”

“I’m worrying me too. Okay. When?” He asks, and she smiles a little more widely in response. It makes his heart do a little flip, and he figures it’s nerves about seeing someone for the first time in months.

“Now? I don’t mind, whenever,” she answers, “my place is kind of a mess but I know you don’t care. Also, I’m probably going to ask you to stay over so y’know. Bring a toothbrush.”

“I don’t wanna hang up but I gotta so I can drive over - but I’ll be there in half an hour?” He tells her, actually smiling himself now, and she nods.

“I can’t wait. See you Shayne.”

“Thank you for being the best, Court,” he answers, biting his lip, before he hits end on the call and moves to grab a backpack and a couple of things to take.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my blatant bias against facial hair & thank you to everyone who saw this here and helped get it a little more exposure on the other site!

He’s still moving slowly - it takes him five minutes to remember where he put his toothbrush the previous time he used it (which was, to his own disgust, not the previous night) and another ten of bumbling around remembering what he actually needs to take. His mind starts spiralling again when he gets in the car and he’s almost embarrassed by how much he’s crying when he knocks on her door another thirty minutes later, but-

“Shayyyyyyne,” she drags his name out, reaching for his hand to pull him inside and shut the door behind them. It’s the first time he’s touched someone for months and it sends a jolt of warmth through him that makes him cry even more. “Shayne, honey, it’s okay.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, as she comforts him, looking down to the floor.

“You don’t need to be sorry, hey? Come on,” she murmurs, arms outstretched. She pauses for half a second before she moves forward, arms snaking around his waist and upper back as she pulls him tightly against her. He feels like he’s going to melt in the pleasant warmth of the hug but instead he lets his own arms wrap around her and buries his face against the crook of her neck. They don’t speak for a while, but her hand rubs small circles across his shoulder blade and he lets the feelings of closeness push into his mind and drown out the spiralling, tears finally slowing to a stop.

“Thank you, Court. So much,” he mumbles to break their silence, ten minutes later, and he pulls his head back ever so slightly although he doesn’t let go of her.

“Thank you. I missed hugging you too,” she answers, with a soft smile that seems to start slowly filling in the hole in his chest. “You want to do something, or nothing?”

“Can we play a game or something? I know I gotta talk it out eventually but right now- I just don’t want to think,” he explains, still sniffling slightly, but she immediately nods and pulls him over to the couch, throwing him her pro controller and pulling out the Switch Joycons for herself. He tries to argue, but she waves him off and he can’t be bothered to keep pushing, so he accepts the better controller and settles into their afternoon of playing around on the Switch. They don’t talk a whole heap other than comments on each other’s performance, but it’s nice. It’s relaxed. And she keeps leaning over and hitting his arm and he isn’t even trying to fight her off, for once.

“What do you want for dinner?” She asks him, as the evening draws on, and he simply shrugs. “Pad Thai?”

“I don’t really feel like anything but I know I gotta so- something I don’t love so much. Don’t want to ruin my favourite food,” he replies, after a moment, shaking his head. She pauses for a moment, almost looking like she wants to argue, but she sighs and nods, standing up and walking over to grab something from the kitchen.

“I know you feel like shit, Shayne, and everything seems too hard right now and I’ll let you go for it tonight - but I’m not going to let you just wallow in your depression, okay? It’s okay to feel sad, it’s okay to be low, but you gotta look after yourself, or at least let me look after you,” she tells him matter-of-factly when she returns, sitting much closer to him than previously.

“I know,” he nods, “it’s just- so much effort, and I’m so tired. But I- coming here is looking after myself. At least a little.”

“Okay,” she accepts his explanation with a nod, before handing over her phone open on door dash, “I’m buying you dinner, but pick something you actually want to eat.”

He hesitates for a minute before forcing himself to scroll through the options and pick the thing that looks most appealing, before handing the phone back for her to finish the order.

“Why aren’t you shaving?” She redirects their conversation after putting her phone back on the table, turning to the side to face him. Her knee presses against his thigh in the process and he lets his hand fall to rest on it in response.

“It was for the characters initially, I swear,” he defends, “but now I just... why bother?”

“You know, I feel like I need to give you a self-care spa day like I would myself, you’re absolutely the kind of dude who would benefit from a bath bomb and shaving and whatever your equivalent of doing your hair and face nicely is,” she tells him, and it makes him actually laugh, turning to meet her eyes.

“Probably. Yeah. But I don’t like... I don’t know how. I don’t own bath bombs. Hell, I could probably do with some kind of face mask, my skin is super mad at me under all this gross facial hair,” he admits.

“I don’t think I can help you tonight because I don’t have the things necessary to get rid of this,” she murmurs, hand reaching up to run across the hair on his jawline, “super prickly too, I’m so glad there’s no one having to endure kissing you with that.”

“Hey, weren’t you meant to be looking after me?” He grumbles, although he’s joking and he lets himself smile when she laughs in response.

“Sometimes that means telling you the beard does not look good and it’s gotta go,” she grins, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer against his side in response.

“Okay. Tomorrow I’ll work on... something like that. Tonight, just let me be sad on your couch?”

“Sure. You just gotta let me look after you, okay?” she requests, and he nods, letting them fall into silence beside each other until their food arrives a little while later. He lets himself cheer up a little as they eat – it’s so _nice_ to pretend this is just another one of their normal hangouts, poking fun at each other as they eat at her dining table and settle back into another round of games after dinner where he pushes them to co-op instead of versus mode because he doesn’t feel like competing.

She offers her bed for him to sleep in, says she’s happy to take the couch, but he quickly declines and waves her off to her bedroom after they get ready for bed, sliding under the blanket she has provided on her couch as he stares up at the ceiling in silence.

It takes fifteen minutes for the silence to take him right back to where he was at home a few hours earlier, the emptiness creeping back into his heart. He feels gross, he’s so damn tired but he can’t actually find the right mental space for sleep. He’s not even spiralling any more, he’s empty and numb but he feels tears leaking down his face again and he tries to stay as quiet as possible because he doesn’t want to wake her up and he doesn’t want to make her worry.

A particularly uncontrolled sniff gives him away, and he winces after it happens, freezing in the hope it’s fine, but thirty seconds later she’s sitting down on the coffee table opposite him and reaching out to take one of his hands in hers.

“Shayne,” she murmurs, softly, and he turns to his side to face her as he gently squeezes her hands.

“Sorry, it just- I feel so empty,” he mumbles, sighing deeply, “I can go home, I don’t want to keep you up.”

“No, Shayne,” she shakes her head immediately, “I am absolutely not letting you go home. Would it help if you… slept in my bed? With me?”

The innuendo doesn’t escape him, but it doesn’t stick. He’s not in the right state for teasing her about that, instead warring mentally with himself over the suggestion.

“Do you mind?” he asks, after a while, voice small.

“Of course not, Shayne. You’re my best friend, okay? It’s fine. I share beds with friends all the time,” she brushes off his concerns, although he instinctively knows she’s talking about female friends, normally.

“I don’t,” he admits, “but I need company. Okay. Thank you.”

It takes him a moment to convince himself to sit up, silently following her through into her room and sliding under the covers on the opposite side to her, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. She reaches out after a few minutes, hand finding his to hold it loosely, and it must be what he needs because he drifts off to sleep only minutes later.

He wakes up face-down with his arm over her, while she is half on her side, lower shoulder pressed against his. It doesn’t entirely surprise him – they’re always fighting and pushing each other around and throwing arms all over each other when they’re awake, why not subconsciously, too? Still, he feels like an asshole, and he moves as gently as he can to pull away from her, away from the centre of the bed where they’ve both ended up.

“I don’t mind, I figured you’d end up cuddling me,” her voice is almost teasing when it breaks through the silence, and it makes him laugh lightly.

“I don’t want to cross any lines here but-“ he admits, flipping over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, although he lets his hand reach out and fall into hers again, “I am a tiny bit touch-starved and I am used to us being… touchy. Although usually fighting. I didn’t mean to move over.”

“It’s fine, Shayne. Really. It doesn’t need to… mean anything different to hugging normally,” she reassures him, “besides, we both did the moving closer thing.”

He lets the conversation end there, not particularly motivated to argue with her. She rolls out of bed only a few minutes later, but he stays a little longer, curled up around the pillow he slept on as she grabs clothes out of her closet and takes them into the bathroom. He hears her shower turn on, his own thoughts drifting over his current state of hygiene or lack thereof. At least he showered the previous morning before recording the podcast, and he low key trimmed some of the messier parts of his facial hair.

“You going to get up soon?” she asks, sitting at the end of the bed facing him twenty minutes later, dressed and ready for the day. He doesn’t answer, merely shrugging, and she nods. “I’ve gotta film a couple bits for the grad sketch, I’m going to do that while the lighting out in the living room is good – I’ve left a spare towel in the bathroom if you want to shower, I want you to get out of bed before I finish filming, okay?”

“Okay – shower won’t mess with your sound?” he asks, as she goes to stand up, and she just shrugs.

“It shouldn’t, the camera mic isn’t that sensitive.”

He quietly pulls himself out of the bed and grabs his bag from against the wall – he can’t remember moving it into her bedroom, she must have done it without him noticing – to take into the bathroom ten minutes later. She’s between shots, playing around with a camera angle when he does, and she glances over and gives him a wide smile as he does. He makes a point of smiling back before he slips into the bathroom and forces himself into some kind of half-assed morning routine.

“You wanna help me with this shot?” she calls out, after he’s left the bathroom and is standing awkwardly in her kitchen looking over at where she’s set up in the living room, camera facing the other direction. He nods, wandering over and letting her fill him in on what she’s doing – it’s in reference to one of his bits he recorded the other day, funnily enough – and they settle into finishing up her filming for a little while, until she’s done.

“You got much planned for today?” she asks him, as she packs up a little, and he shrugs.

“Not really. I don’t have any work stuff outstanding, I kind of…” he trails off, shying back into himself.

“Hmm?” she prompts, gently.

“Kinda like your self-care day idea. Even though I just showered I feel… gross and weird,” he admits, “what are your plans?”

“I just had to finish that, I’ll pull it all together and send through but otherwise – however much you want me to be part of your day?” she replies, and he nods.

“I kinda don’t want to leave. I mean, I gotta, if I’m going to take care of this whole beard situation…” he shrugs, “you’re helping. A lot.”

“I don’t know the slightest thing about managing facial hair, but maybe I’ll let you deal with that and then we can have a nice self-care chill day back here? Whether that’s digging into some of my usual self-care stuff or just playing more Switch…” she trails off, shrugging, before quickly adding, “Liv and I sometimes do these chill fake spa day things, and some of it isn’t _super_ relevant to you, but the relax and put ourselves first and bitch about our problems part might be good?”

“Yeah, that sounds- I’m not gonna lie, I’m so not here for toxic masculinity bullshit right now, I just want to feel clean and refreshed and relaxed,” he admits, “how about I… go home for a little bit, return with much less facial hair and I do actually own skincare stuff for myself and whatever so I… yeah? Come back here?”

“Perfect – how long do you think you’ll be?” she asks.

“Might be a couple hours with driving and all,” he nods, “so – I can be back around lunch? I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Okay, that works,” she smiles, wandering over and pulling him into a hug, “proud of you for trying to feel better, Shayne.”

“Thanks. I’m- really glad you messaged me when you did,” he replies quietly, letting himself settle into her hug as he holds his own arms tightly around her.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn’t spiral when he gets back in his car to drive home. The emptiness in his chest is making its presence more known now he’s by himself again, but he fights it out of his mind, trying to focus on the day ahead of him instead. He’s going to relax. He’s going to feel better. He’s going to be kind to himself. And he gets to spend more time with Courtney, which is a genuine mood-booster.

He pauses at his bathroom sink with his clippers and razor resting on the bench, hands pressing against the sink as he finally looks at himself in the mirror. It’s a mild improvement on the photo he sent Courtney the previous afternoon – his face is dry, for one – but his eyes are sunken, his face hidden underneath a shadow of unkempt hair and his expression vacant. It would be _so_ easy to give up, to just go back to bed and tell her he’s tired and he wants to sleep more but-

She’d be upset with him, he doesn’t want to let her down.

He clips his facial hair down to a more manageable length first, pausing after he does to examine whether he wants to leave _something_ there – but after thirty seconds of deliberation he reaches for his shaver, taking it all off. It’s gotta go. He just has to feel clean.

“That looks more like the Shayne I recognise,” she grins when she answers the door a while later, stepping aside to invite him in again. He laughs, shrugging as he puts his now much more well-packed bag down near her couch.

“Yeah, it’s- a little neater,” he answers, “I almost left some, but I just needed to start from a clean slate.”

“A clean start is always nice,” she agrees, following him down to sit on the couch.

“I was so close to giving in and going back to bed,” he mumbles, a moment later, his voice lower as he looks down at the floor and picks at a loose string on his pants, “I _know_ I need to fight it and wallowing won’t help me but… the motivation to feel better is thin.”

“It’s not easy, it’s going to take time and it’s going to take work for you to feel better – but you need to, Shayne. You deserve to feel better,” she tells him, soft force behind her tone, “you need to want to do it for yourself, and deep down I can see that you do – but if not yourself, can you at least do it for me?”

“I _want_ to do it for me,” he answers, letting his eyes drift back up in front of him, “but the reason I _didn’t_ just get in bed at my place is because I don’t want to let you down. I don’t want to- put too much on you. I’ll work through this myself, but also I- don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to do it without me, okay? It’s okay to look to friends for support, Shayne. I love when we just mess around and do stupid shit and you make me laugh – but I’m here to help you when you’re not up to doing that too,” she reinforces, and he nods.

They settle into their afternoon from then on, Shayne redirecting their conversation in a lighter direction as they order in lunch from a place like halfway between their places that he’d found on his doordash scrolling a couple months earlier, when the pandemic seemed more like a short-term opportunity and less like an unending sea of hell. She lets their conversation stay general as they eat and as he helps her tidy up the kitchen a little afterwards, but she prompts him to start talking when they shift into the relaxing part of the day.

He feels kind of silly, for the first five minutes, actually taking time to wash and cleanse his face properly using a portable mirror set up on her coffee table while she does the same beside him and he openly talks about how shit he feels, but he relaxes into it by the third step. Usually his skincare routine – if he could call it that, he really can’t, it’s an occasional attempt when he’s looking a little dry or oily – stops at three steps, but she supplements with some of her own products and it’s kind of nice.

“Should I feel special that you’re letting me use this?” he asks, at a pause in conversation as he examines a bottle of some kind of refreshing face mist, after applying it. It’s nice. It kind of makes his cheeks tingle, but in a way that feels like they’re _meant to_ , like it’s doing something that will be good for him in the long run.

“Yes,” she laughs, “but hey, you _are_ special, in a way.”

“Should I be offended?” he jokes back, but she just smiles and shakes her head, and he lets himself relax back against the couch for a moment after he sets the bottle back on the table. “I swear I’m not dodging, I’m genuinely asking, how are _you_ going?”

“I’m doing okay, honestly,” she admits, “I mean – yeah, I miss being around people, I really miss work, but I’m lucky enough to get to see family every now and then and I’m kind of filtering the existence of everything outside my own little bubble a little more than usual to keep the anxiety under control.”

“I think I need to filter a little more. I think that’s what got me into this, I started watching and reading too much news and everything is just… not great. They never share anything good,” he replies, “I guess I forgot it’s still happening.”

“Good is _absolutely_ still happening, it’s just a little harder to find people talking about it,” Courtney reassures. “In a way – I think the fact I’m used to being an inherently anxious person means I went into this a little more prepared than you might have.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know in the abstract all this mental health stuff, it doesn’t wholly surprise me that I ended up in a bit of a black hole, but- it’s one thing to have done college courses and read about how people are _meant_ to deal with this stuff, it’s a whole other thing to find the motivation to actually do it for myself.”

“Brains be annoying sometimes, it’s hard to fight back – but you gotta find a way,” she agrees, and he nods, letting them fall into a comfortable silence as they finish up that part of their afternoon.

They do face masks next – she has multiple for him to choose from, and he goes for a slightly green clay one that smells kind of citrusy and bright. Bright feels good. He lets himself laugh at how weird he feels as it slowly hardens on his skin, and he smiles even more when he feels Courtney laughing at his own mild discomfort. They have to move into the bathroom to wash them off, so they move in there earlier, sitting down with backs against the wall with her phone sitting up on the counter on a 10-minute timer until it’s time to wash the clay off.

It’s something about the bathroom that breaks him down again – it feels private, it’s darker, the _only_ person who could possibly see him is her. It’s not like he’s even crying over anything in particular, but in the middle of a sentence about how there’s only so much animal crossing he can play, he feels himself start to get choked up as his eyes start watering.

“I don’t even know why I’m-“ he shakes his head, the tears making it too hard to keep talking as he leans forward slightly, head bowed.

“Oh Shayne,” Courtney murmurs softly beside him, hand reaching behind him to rub broad, gentle circles between his shoulder blades. It makes him cry even more, if anything, but he pulls his legs up as close as he can and angles himself to the side to press his knees against her thighs.

“I’m sorry, I just-“ he starts, again cut off by another wave of tears. He can feel it moving the clay mask under his eyes, and he rapidly blinks in some attempt to try and bring it under control.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you can cry. Sometimes you just gotta let it out,” Courtney reassures him, voice soft as she continues the gentle motion against his back. They’re only interrupted a few minutes later by the sound of the alarm on Courtney’s phone, and Shayne silently stands up, refusing to look up at himself in the mirror as she hands him a washcloth to help wash the mask off. He finishes removing his before her, and he stumbles backwards to lean against the wall opposite the mirror as he waits, reluctantly looking up to watch her in the mirror.

“I’m so alone,” he mumbles, when she steps back and turns to face him again, concern evident in her eyes. “I know I’m not most of the time, but even before this, I just… I feel so unloved and I don’t know _why_ and if it’s something wrong with me or what.”

“You have friends and family who love you to pieces, Shayne, but that isn’t what you mean, is it?” she responds softly, sighing when he simply nods and looks down to the floor again.

“I’m fine being alone most of the time, I guess, I just… all these people around me have this one person there for _everything_ , one person they can share life with and I just want that. I want someone I can trust with everything,” he admits, eyes not looking up, “and I know it’s wrong to want it in the abstract, it should be about finding the right person, but I just… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not even in the abstract, maybe there is someone but it’s just… not there.”

“Is this a new realisation, or have you been bottling this up for a while?” she asks softly, hand reaching out to grab just above his wrist as she guides him out to sit on the sofa with her.

“I don’t know. I think… a while, but maybe I didn’t totally realise I cared so much until all this,” he mumbles, pushing back into the cushions at the end of the couch.

“It’s not because something is wrong with you. You’re caring, and smart, and I don’t need to tell you you’re hilarious and you make everyone around you happy, okay? You just haven’t found someone, and I know that sucks, I get what it’s like to just… want something more. But it’s not your fault, it’s just how it is,” she reassures him, and he nods, sighing as he falls into silence, wringing his hands together.

“It’s not like I even look anymore, I’m not trying to find someone. I just want to stumble into something perfect, which is stupid and unrealistic but – I don’t know how else to, because I’m stupid and weird and I scare off people who don’t get that,” he breaks the silence a few minutes later, looking up to meet her eyes, “and I don’t mean that to be self-deprecating. I just… you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m kinda the same,” she confirms, “but I guess… I’ve got to this place where I’m… settled with the fact that I’m perpetually single. It’s fine. I know it’s just how it is, and I might not have _one_ person I can go to for everything, but I’ve got people around me who in combination are there when I need them. And I think – you have that too, other than the intimate side of it all I guess, but- maybe you need to remember all the people you _do_ have.”

“I don’t really care about the sexual side of it all,” he admits, “I mean, I guess it would be nice or whatever, I haven’t had sex for literally years because I just don’t want to do the casual thing but… whatever. I’ll live. It’s the… having someone I can go to when I feel like this, I guess.”

“You know, you _have_ people who you can go to when you feel like shit. Me, for one,” she tells him, “and I know Damien would give you a shoulder to cry on. Your brothers. People care about you, Shayne. People love you a whole lot.”

“I guess I do, it’s just… I guess I’m still fixated on this idea of wanting to be in love with someone. Or, I guess, wanting to be _mutually_ in love with someone,” he shakes his head, as if trying to brush away the admission, eyes shifting down to the floor again.

“It’s a nice idea to be fixated on,” she agrees, quietly, letting them fall into silence again. His tears have finally calmed down, and despite all the crying, his skin feels soft and hydrated and healthy. It’s kind of nice to focus on, and it pushes him into a slightly lighter statement.

“You mentioned bath bombs yesterday…” he trails off, and Courtney laughs softly.

“Yeah, you wanna do the bath thing? That’s a little more of a solo thing though, I know I see you in very little quite often, but I think that one’s a little more… nudity,” she says, and he nods.

“Mm. Which sucks. Because I kinda want to keep talking,” he sighs, “wish I’d thought to bring swimwear or something.”

“I’m totally happy for you to go use one of my bath bombs and I’ll still be here, just on the other side of the door,” she offers, but he shakes his head.

“No, I- I don’t want to pressure you in the slightest, if you’re not comfortable being in the same room with me that’s absolutely fine and I’ll just skip that part and we can stay out here but-“ he takes a deep breath, “if I… was like, in the bath, is it deep enough that you could be across the room and not really see me? Or at least anything other than my chest?”

“Probably, actually. I could chuck some pillows on the floor over near the door and we can still chat? I’d get to smell the bath bomb too then, at least,” she grins, and it makes him laugh, settling into the fact that she’s okay with his suggestion. “I have very few boundaries with you, boy, our job has thrown us into some weird close situations at this point I really do not care.”

“I don’t ever want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, but yeah, I don’t really give a shit how much of me you see,” he shrugs, following her in standing up and moving back into the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small content warning for references to sexual practices but nothing actually sexual.

She leans down to the counter under her sink to pull out a selection of colourful and strong-smelling bath bombs.

“I know they smell like absolute hell all together like this, but I promise it’s better when it’s just one and it’s in the water,” she explains, “any picks?”

“What’s the purple one?” he asks, and she nods.

“Lavender. Super relaxing, and actually, this one turns the water pretty opaque, if you want to avoid any dick slips,” she grins, and it makes him laugh, nodding as he selects it. She starts the bath running, letting him adjust it to his preferred temperature – which, you know, if he’s going to have a bath it may as well be _hot_ – before stepping out of the room to let him change out of his clothes and step into the water. He gently drops the fizzy ball into the water once the water level is above the top of his hips with his legs stretched out in front of him, and she knocks on the door a moment later.

“You’re good, water still clear though,” he answers, and she walks in with her hand over her eyes, one of her wooden chairs from the kitchen in the other hand.

“As nice as baths are – gonna get you a water so you don’t overheat or anything, and you will be dehydrated from crying. Back in a sec,” she tells him, turning around again and stepping out of the room. She returns thirty seconds later with a water as promised, placing it on the chair beside him, before she again slips out only to return a further minute or two later with a handful of pillows and a throw rug from the living room. She arranges them against the wall across the bathroom from him, just near the door, finally letting her hand fall away from her eyes once she sits down and makes herself comfortable.

“You good there?” he asks her, half-teasing, and she nods.

“Yeah, all I can see is your nips, and can’t say I don’t see your nips like… often. Strangely often,” she responds, before her voice softens, “you good over there?”

“Yeah, this is nice,” he admits, “I don’t know if I’ve ever used a bath bomb. It’s kinda cool, I get the appeal, all the fizzing is fun and the water feels… soft. I didn’t know water could be _soft_.”

“That one is super moisturising, you’ll feel awesome after,” she agrees, “or at least, your skin will, even if you don’t.”

“I’ll see how I go,” he picks up on her meaning, head twisting around to look straight at her, “I’m not exactly feeling _awesome_ yet, but- Better. Definitely… better. All this helps. Talking to you helps. Someone I really care about reminding me I don’t totally suck helps.”

“You’re probably not going to feel awesome for a while, but that’s okay. As long as you accept that you _will_ sometime, and you’re going to try and get there, okay?” she requests, and he simply nods as he lets himself sink a little further into the bath. “I really care about you too, by the way. You’re one of my favourite people and it kind of breaks my heart to see you so sad. Which doesn’t mean you can’t be sad around me – it just means I want to help you feel better again, when you’re ready to.”

“I know what you mean. Thank you. You are kind of – you’re kind of my number one person, I mean, I still go to Damien for so much but you’re the person who kind of… plays the role in my life that a romantic partner might play, if I had one. And sometimes I worry that I’m using you for too much of my emotional stuff, and I don’t want to do that, but you seem… okay with everything,” he admits, watching as she nods.

“I am okay with it, and you’re kind of that person for me too. It’s not like I haven’t cried on your shoulder – literally – a heap of times, too. I guess we’re just… mutual platonic not-dating partners,” she says it lightly, biting her lip, and he pushes down his first reaction, searching through his mind for the joke instead.

“Yeah, I certainly wouldn’t be this naked in a room with Damien,” he jokes, and she laughs openly. It makes him smile, watching as she looks back at him with warmth in her eyes.

“You sure you and Damien aren’t secretly fucking? You’re both single, you know,” she teases.

“Not to my knowledge,” he shakes his head, “I think I’ve done as much with Damien as I have you.”

“Oh, so you’ve made out with him, then? Cute,” she grins, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sometimes I forget we did make out that one time. No, I haven’t made out with Damien…”

“Aw, my kissing skill that forgettable, are they?” she jokes, “weren’t you in that video where he read fanfic about you?”

“I mean, I sat awkwardly far away from him and didn’t look at him, but yes, I sat beside Damien while he exaggeratedly mimed jerking me off,” Shayne admits, shuddering as his mind wanders back to that shoot, “we couldn’t look at each other for like, a good two weeks…”

Courtney laughs lightly again, before they fall into a silence for a moment, Shayne quietly processing before he comes to the sudden realisation that he forgot to respond to half her statement.

“I don’t think your kissing skills were _forgettable_ , by the way, we were both being stupid and over-the-top and not actually kissing…” he shrugs, eyes drifting away from her as he speaks.

“Yeah, none of the times we’ve kissed have really been how I _really_ kiss,” she agrees, “maybe next time we gotta kiss in a sketch I’ll kiss you properly just so you can tell me how I do.”

“You better let me know if you do, otherwise I might accidentally tell you your kissing sucks when you were just fake kissing,” he throws back at her, and she shakes her head.

“Oh, you’d know. I’ve been told I’m… decent,” she grins, and he makes a point of laughing extra loudly to cover the blush he feels on his cheeks.

“How has your dating life been going? I’m guessing quiet lately, but pre-quarantine…” he trails off, eyes flicking back over to her as he raises his eyebrows in a questioning glance.

“Pretty quiet even before quarantine, actually. It’s been… quite a while. I’m not exactly in the space where I want to mess around with people much,” she leans back against the wall as she talks, “kinda got my heart set on something a little more serious.”

“Something or someone?” he pushes, watching her cheeks flush. His heart sinks a little as he watches her react, puffing her cheeks up slightly before giving a long, embarrassed sigh, but he tries to push his own reaction aside.

“Don’t you _dare_ tell a single person anything-“ she starts threateningly, and he quickly nods in acknowledgement, “There’s… someone. I kinda got a whole lot of unresolved feelings. But like, there’s nothing there, it’s _very_ one-sided, and I can deal with that. I’ve kind of realised it’s not something I can pursue, which sucks, but it’s fine. I just can’t be bothered to try and move on so I can look elsewhere again.”

“Aww, Courtney,” he sympathises, the teasing gone from his voice, “one, your secret is safe with me, always. Two, that super sucks, but I’m glad you’re in a place where you’re okay with all of it. Can I ask about the person?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about him,” she admits, after a moment, immediately freezing. “uh… I guess I told you it’s a dude, though.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it,” he tells her, not pressing any further.

Their bathroom conversation runs all over the place from there. He talks through some of his more specific concerns about people he knows getting covid, and she reminds him gently that everyone he knows is sensible, for the most part, and they’re staying home and being safe and that’s all they can do at the moment. That one helps, a little more directly, too. Sure, this thing is terrifying, and it could happen, but as long as everyone he knows is being safe - which he knows they are - it’s out of his hands. It’s out of their hands. Worrying isn’t going to help, this time. She pulls a few things out of one of the drawers across from her, as that conversation comes to a close and he shifts slightly in the bath to stretch his back a little, admitting he could do with a lighter conversation for a while.

“Which colour? Gonna paint the toenails while I’m sitting here,” she asks him, holding up a teal blue and a dark red.

“If you were still a redhead I’d say the red, match and all - but I think blue. You’re wearing a lot of blue lately,” he muses in response, “but serious question, why paint your toenails? Is it just a... fun thing, or is it for people to see?”

“A fun thing,” she shrugs, “I don’t paint my own fingernails much, I go for fakes instead so I can switch around more easily for characters. But toes is just whatever. I’m certainly not trying to get on wikifeet again anytime soon.”

“Oh, good old wikifeet... I seriously don’t understand the whole foot fetish thing. Just, why? Feet are weird,” he sighs, watching as she pulls off her socks and shifts around to sit with her knees up in front of her and twists the cap off the small bottle.

“They really are. I mean, to each their own, there’s probably stuff I’m into or you’re into that other people think is insane but- yeah, not feet,” she tilts her head, “are you even into anything remotely freaky or are you super vanilla?”

“I don’t even know,” he admits, throwing away his oversharing concerns before they can materialise, “I don’t think I’ve tried enough stuff to know what I’m really into. I guess I- know what I look for with porn and whatever, I guess. Nothing super weird.”

“Do you watch porn much?” She queries again, but her tone isn’t teasing, simply curious, and he can’t find it in himself to be coy, for once.

“I mean, I did more when I was younger, but not as much now. Occasionally, but - I am not exactly into seeing obviously fake dicks on other men and the whole just kind of, vagina and nothing else camera angle is just... minimising and iffy. I read erotic fiction stuff sometimes, at least there the women usually have some kind of personality,” he admits, “Do you watch that kinda thing, if you don’t mind me asking? I know the thing about girls not being sexual is bullshit, but porn never really seems like it’s... made with women in mind.”

“I do sometimes, but yeah, there’s a lot more bad, objectifying porn than there is decent stuff, and the industry as a whole is kinda iffy on consent and all those important things. But sometimes the imagination just doesn’t do it for me, so,” she shrugs, pausing to concentrate on painting her smallest toe for a second, “the stuff I do watch is pretty boring straight stuff. Or the occasional lesbian thing, because hey, I guess I’m into that too.”

“I can’t decide how I feel about lesbian porn,” he admits, “because like, no other dudes is not a bad thing to me but - sexualising a sexuality that explicitly isn’t for me as a straight man is something I’m not here for. I always gotta rationalise that it’s not actually lesbian, it’s women doing stuff with the intention a dude will watch it.”

“Yeah, it’s very much that,” she confirms, “I found a couple places with lesbian porn made for girls and it’s so much better. Less nails and stiletto heels and aggressive penetration with hyper-realistic strapons.”

“I never understood the realistic strap on thing,” he nods, “They always look crude and creepy. But again, I guess I’m not into dicks anyway.”

“As someone who _is_ into dicks...” she trails off, hesitating for a moment, “Sorry for the personal TMI but they’re not ALWAYS bad, some of the semi-realistic stuff is good because the shape is... nice. Just a straight up and down dildo isn’t always ideal. I can’t say there isn’t a semi-realistic one in this apartment somewhere.”

“It’s chill. You say that like you don’t know where it is and it’s like a mystery, does it exist here or does it not thing,” he laughs, cutting through the slight tension that had settled over them, and glancing over to meet her eyes as she twists the cap back into the nail polish, evidently finished.

“First drawer in the bedside table beside where you slept last night, so you know either where to take or not take any snooping in my room,” she answers him airily, and he laughs again, trying not to think too hard about what she’s saying.

“I will not be snooping at all, but thanks for letting me know where to avoid.”

“You want to stay over again tonight? It’s already happened once now, so you can skip the awkwardness and I’ll hug you all night, if you want,” she changes the topic and he pauses for a moment in contemplation.

“If you don’t mind me staying... yeah,” he answers carefully.

“Course I don’t mind. Still here for you, Shayne,” she reinforces.

“I know. Thank you. I’m really lucky to have you,” he tells her, letting himself smile a little wider as he watches her finally shift to put away her nail stuff, toes seemingly dry.

“I’m lucky to have you too, Shayney boi,” she reminds him.

“I think I’ve had enough of the bath,” he decides a few minutes later, glancing back over to meet her eyes, “unless you want to see dick, you might want to get out for a sec.”

She pauses in faked contemplation for a moment before laughing and gathering all the pillows under her into a heap in her arms and slipping out of the room. He takes his time stepping out of the bath and drying himself off. His skin feels _so_ soft he can’t really believe it, and he lets himself run his hand across his calves a few times before he puts his jeans on just to relish in it.

“I feel so soft that was amazing,” he tells Courtney when he steps out into the main room, still in the process of pulling his shirt back on but he figures that doesn’t matter. “Thanks for suggesting that. And thanks for sitting in there with me.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she replies, hand reaching out to land just above his ankle when he sits up on the couch beside her, “ooh, your skin is soft. Nice.”

They settle into their afternoon then from there much like the previous one, moving between gentle conversations and deep discussions as they half-play some stuff on the Switch again. She tries to argue they should split it, but he buys her dinner much like he did lunch, and he gets pad Thai and blushes at how warm he feels when he watches her eyes fill with pride and warmth.


	5. Chapter 5

It must be something about the dark. They skip the couch pretence, climbing into bed opposite each other a couple hours after dinner. He feels tears spring to his eyes again, and he is in half a mind to turn onto his other side instead of facing her as he does but he can’t bring himself to care and she reaches out to take his hand in hers, and-

“I wish I didn’t wake up alone all the time. I don’t want to just wake up with anyone, but I want someone to love me enough to want to be beside me even when we’re asleep. And I don’t think anyone will ever love me that much, because even... the last girl didn’t, and that lasted five years,” he mumbles through his tears, letting go of her hand after a moment to twist around and face away from her. “I’m seriously unlovable.”

She doesn’t respond with words, but her hands start tracing patterns he can’t quite interpret across his back, gentle and delicate but with clear purpose. It helps, because of course it does. It gets him out of his head and moves him in the direction of sleep, tears quietening down and disappearing. Her hand stills on his back a moment later, and he listens to her soft half-sigh as he feels himself drifting off.

“I wish I could tell you,” she murmurs in the silence, barely loud enough for him to hear, but it snaps his eyes back open and his brain back into consciousness. He feels her freeze behind him in recognition he heard her as he gently twists back around again, facing her, his own emotions pushed to the side as he focuses on her.

“You know you can tell me anything. You could tell me you committed some horrible crime and I’d help you hide,” he tells her, light and jokey, but his eyes burn into hers as if to reinforce how much he means it.

“This one is... a little different. A little I’m scared it would ruin our friendship,” she admits, blinking away a couple of tears from her own eyes. He lets himself follow his immediate desire, hand reaching out to swipe his thumb across the skin just under her eye to clear the one tear that falls. He doesn’t move his hand back, letting her reach up and cup it against her jaw.

“Unless you actively try to ruin our friendship, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I love you, Court,” he tells her softly, and she nods, although it brings more tears to her eyes. She takes a deep breath as she blinks back her tears again, before lifting his hand off her face and moving it further away from her, clasped between her own hands on the bed between them.

“It _kills_ me when you say you’re unlovable or no one will ever love you enough to want to be beside you all the time and be your number one person because...” she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, before they flick open and look straight into his, “I do. I love you that much. I am... completely in love with you. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about the person I’m fixated on, because you are that person. And I know we’re just friends, and that’s okay, I can live with that, because I need you in my life in some way and I understand that’s the way I get you. But I just... you’re such an amazing person, Shayne, and I wish you knew that.”

He feels himself blinking almost stupidly in silence for thirty seconds as he processes what she said, mind stuttering as he tries to let it sink in. He almost can’t believe it, but she goes to let go of his hand and awkwardly pull away from him and he hurriedly brings his other hand up to clasp hers and hold them in place. He doesn’t want to reject her. God, no.

“I...” he starts, taking a deep breath as he tries to formulate his feelings into words, tears springing to his eyes again.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. You don’t need to say anything. I can go sleep on the couch and we can wake up tomorrow and pretend I never said anything,” she reassures him.

“No,” he tells her finally finding his voice, “no, stay. And... we aren’t pretending you never said anything. Because I’m in love with you too. When I say I want someone to be all these things for me, I mean you. Because I want to be those things for you, too. Because you’re... everything to me, I trust you so much and I think you’re amazing, too.”

“You... really? You’re not just saying that because you’re upset and I’m looking after you?” she asks, wide-eyed and cautious.

“Really,” he confirms, before getting an idea, half rolling over to grab his phone off the bedside table behind him and opening up his conversation with Damien. He hits search, typing in her name before he hands the phone over to her. “Look- at how often I mention you, for one, but...”

He watches her scroll between the mentions for a moment, until she pauses on a longer one, eyes scanning over the screen. He can guess what it is, but she hands the phone back to him thirty seconds later and he can confirm, it’s the wall of text he sent to Damien just before they went to Australia about how he feels like an asshole for using her to play that role without telling her he wants her to for real. How he isn’t sure if he’s hurting or helping himself by doing it but he _knows_ he’s head-over-heels for her.

“I’ve played the supportive almost-partner role as your friend. I’ve tried not to let my feelings come into it, but I... it’s hard, sometimes, and I kind of remember how much I adore you,” she tells him softly, pulling their hands towards her face to press a barely-there kiss against his knuckles. “I don’t think you’re an asshole for getting close to me like that. Because it’s not like it’s one sided, yeah? I’ve gone to you for support, too, and you’ve been so present and helpful.”

“What changes now? Or do we just... stay the same?” He asks softly, and it makes her bite her lip and look away from his eyes.

“I want things to change. I want to be able to hold you properly tonight and you can wake up tomorrow knowing there’s someone beside you because I want to be there,” she tells him softly, before hesitating for a moment, “and I want to kiss you.”

“Then… we can kiss, yeah?” He asks, in response, and she nods, letting him shift closer until he is sharing her pillow, face only inches from hers. She leans in as much as he does, letting her hand cup his cheek as they meet in a soft, slow kiss. It’s not frantic and it doesn’t move any further than gentle lips on lips, but it’s enough, for now.

“Come on, love, we need to sleep,” she murmurs, after they pull apart, gesturing for him to turn around again. He complies, turning around only to settle back against her as her arms wrap around his waist. He takes her hands in his, lifting them up to hold against his own chest, over his heart.

They are in much the same position when he wakes up the following morning, and he settles in for at least ten seconds before his mind starts creeping up on him, his shoulders tensing up as he tries to convince himself not to move away. He believes her, he guesses – she’s a good actor, but not to the extent of faking the look in her eyes when she told him last night. But she said she was… settled, that she knows they won’t ever be anything more, and what if that’s all she wants now? What if they just become… friends who kiss sometimes? Is that what she wants? And why has he been so focussed on what _he_ wants to get out of a relationship and not how much love he has to give her?

“I can hear you thinking,” she murmurs, cutting through the noise in his head as she is becoming prone to do. He doesn’t really know what to say, but he lets her shift back away from him slightly and prompt him to turn onto his back, concerned eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Hey, Shayne, what are you battling yourself over this time?”

“You,” he admits, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing deeply, “I… don’t know what happens now. I’m scared we don’t want the same thing.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Do you feel like you’re up to that?” she asks him, softly, and he shrugs.

“My emotions are still a wreck, but I want to know, because I- I didn’t make it clear enough last night, but I am completely in love with you. I don’t want to just stay in this weird friends-but-a-bit-more thing, I don’t want to just be your best friend that you kiss sometimes. I want to be yours, I want to be the person you can _always_ go to for anything, I want to be that for you as much as I want you to be that for me, but you said you’ve accepted that we won’t ever be more than friends so I just-” he rambles, eyes not leaving the ceiling as his stomach fills with anxiety.

“Just because I made myself okay with only being friends doesn’t mean I don’t still want more with every fibre of my being. It’s… I’m concerned that it’s bad timing for us to start something, when you’re going through some shit, but don’t think that means I don’t want to be with you. I do, so much. I just want you to be _sure_ ,” she emphasises, “but I don’t want to be in some weird in-between space, either.”

“I’m not going to say my head isn’t still a mess right now,” he admits, twisting around again to face her, “because I don’t want to lie to you. But I am sure about this. I know what I want, I know I don’t have much drive to do anything right now, but I have the drive to be a good… boyfriend, for you, if you’d let me.”

She bites her lip in response, and he can’t read her expression for a moment until she realises her lower lip is quivering and she’s trying to stop herself from crying, eyes starting to water.

“Hey, Courtney, it’s okay,” he comforts her, hands held back against himself, “can I hug you, or no? It’s okay if no.”

She responds by immediately shifting against him, face hiding against the top of his chest as she cries. His own arms wrap around her upper back, holding her as tightly but as gently as he can manage, thumb rubbing slow circles against the skin at the base of her neck.

“I’m sorry, I just-“ she mumbles, still pressed tightly against him moments later, “I’ve wanted to hear you say you want to be my boyfriend or you want me to be your girlfriend for so long. So, yeah, you can be my boyfriend. We can do this.”

“We can do this,” he confirms, leaning forward to place a soft kiss against the top of her head.

“I lied about the stay at home directions,” she admits, a few minutes later, mild laughter in her eyes as she pulls back from him, “it was only for couples, really. But I figured – well, yeah, we could lie, and looking after you was more important than anything else. But I guess, now, we’ve come around to be okay with that direction again.”

He laughs openly at that, not letting himself come out of contact with her, relishing in her calm, content smile at his laughter.


End file.
